One hundred and Three

One hundred and Three
The city slept. For once, there were no sirens, no wards flaring with panic, no screams echoing through the streets. The Siphon had been driven back, the council subdued, and Morwen locked behind enchanted barriers that even her cunning could not breach… for now.

Inside the penthouse, the morning light streamed through tall windows, painting the room in soft gold. Lira had risen early, restless even after a night of brief comfort beside Ezra. He had gone to oversee some city defenses, leaving her with quiet, but in the stillness, her mind refused to settle.

The memories of the Siphon, the battles, the blood, the cries… they were fading, but not completely. And then came the second nightmare.

It started subtly, with whispers in the dark. At first, she thought she was awake, sitting in the quiet of her room, but the air shifted. Shadows thickened unnaturally, twisting around her like living smoke. A chill crawled up her spine, and she felt a presence… familiar, yet wrong.

Ezra appeared, His hair was dark as ever, but his eyes were colder, glowing faintly red in the shadows. His smile was thin, merciless, and every movement radiated power she had never felt before.

“You see what you’ve made me,” he said, his voice smooth but cutting like a blade. “This is who I am without restraint. Without your meddling, without the Siphon, without the city to hold me back. Weakness is a lie. Compassion is a cage. And you…” His gaze bore into her, sharp, accusing. “You think you know me, but you’ve only ever held my shadow.”

Lira tried to speak, but her voice was gone. The walls around her flickered, dissolving into images of the city burning, the allies she had fought alongside kneeling or fleeing, blood flowing in rivers through streets she had sworn to protect. Ezra’s shadowed form strode through it all, indifferent, commanding, terrifying.

Her chest tightened, and she fell to her knees. “No… this isn’t real!” she whispered, though the cold dread in her veins refused to answer. “You’re not like this!”

But the vision pressed forward. His lips curled into that cruel smile again. “I am. I could be. I don’t need restraint. You think you saved me, but what if I wanted to rule? What if I wanted everything? What if I decided to let the city burn, to let the world kneel? Would you stop me, Ashblood? Could you?”

Lira’s hands clenched in desperation, glowing faintly with residual power. She reached out instinctively, trying to touch him, to anchor him, to anchor herself… but her fingers passed through him, striking only emptiness. Around her, the shadows of fire and chaos intensified, whispering that she could not save him, that she was powerless.

Then she saw herself, reflected in the rivers of flame. She was the queen they feared, yes…but also fragile, vulnerable, torn between love and duty, magic and morality. The sight made her chest ache. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She was rooted in place by fear and love combined.

Suddenly, a voice, soft and familiar, cut through the nightmare.

“Lira…”

It was Ezra’s real voice, distant, warm, tethered to her reality. She felt it, faint as a heartbeat. “I’m here. I’m real.”

The shadows faltered, the red glow in the vision’s eyes flickered, and the walls of fire wavered. Lira gasped, sweat soaking her skin, heart hammering. She closed her eyes and concentrated, grounding herself in the warmth of the memory… Ezra’s hand on hers the night after the Siphon, the quiet moments on the balcony, the whispered promise that they faced the darkness together.

When she opened her eyes, the vision dissolved. Ezra’s shadow faded, leaving only the room around her… the quiet, the stillness, the early light spilling through the curtains. She collapsed onto the bed, gasping, trembling, exhausted but alive.

She could still feel the residue of the fear, the memory of those red eyes, the whispered accusation. It was a warning, though she didn’t yet understand what exactly it meant.

Valen found her there a short while later, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands wrapped around her knees. “Another nightmare?” he asked gently, his voice careful.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “He… he wasn’t himself. Or maybe he was. I don’t know. I saw him do things… cruel things. Things I can’t even imagine him doing awake. And I couldn’t… stop it.”

Valen’s jaw tightened, concern etched into every line of his face. “You’re seeing shadows, Lira. That’s all. You’ve been through hell, your mind’s playing tricks. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than anything the council or Morwen could throw at you.”

She shook her head, a bitter smile forming. “No, Valen. This was different. It wasn’t just fear of them. It was… him. Or a version of him. And I can’t ignore it.”

Valen hesitated, unsure how to comfort her further. “Then… we watch. We stay vigilant. And when Ezra’s awake and beside you, you tell him. We don’t let it fester.”

Lira closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her. “I hope it’s just a dream. I hope it’s not a warning.”

For now, the city slept in fragile peace. But in Lira’s mind, the visions lingered, dark and twisting, hinting that the calm after the storm might be only temporary…. and that the darkness could return not from enemies outside, but from shadows within, from the man she loved and trusted with all her heart.